I’m not going to lie; I’ve been looking forward to this show since I heard it was going to be on. I grew to love Michael C. Hall on Six Feet Under so the opportunity to see him on another show seemed like something that I couldn’t afford to miss.
But I also set my expectations pretty high for this show. After all it featured an actor that I enjoyed, on a network, Showtime, that I dug because of it’s previous high quality offerings (Weeds, Brotherhood, Huff). Sadly the show didn’t quite meet the expectations.
That’s not to say that I didn’t dig the show. Hall’s portrayal of Dexter is full of enough nuance that you don’t ever think that you’re watching David Fisher in a different setting. The supporting cast is equally full of characters that have their own quirks. The show looks great and the effects, particularly the body parts, are frighteningly stellar.
But to me the major flaw in the show is Dexter’s noir-esque narration. It’s grating in the beginning. It goes beyond the dissemination of information and it attempts to set a tone, but all it ended up doing was grating my nerves. It nearly took me out of the show. I longed for it to end and groaned when it returned. I completely understand why the device is used but it threatens to make the show much less enjoyable, at least for me.
The story is firing on all cylinders. The idea of a moral serial killer is a fascinating one. He’s really a serial killer that you can kind of root for, and not in a guilty pleasure, Hannibal Lecter sort of way either. The dual mysteries of what happened to Dexter when he was young and his budding rivalry with another serial killer are certainly enough to keep me interested for the remainder of the season.
Dexter, despite it’s flaws is yet another reason why Sunday night is one of my favorite nights to watch TV.
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